


Interview with a Monster (Gone Wrong)

by MagpieMinx (CardinalFox)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Aphrodisiacs, But only kind of dubcon, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Edging, Eldritch Horror Monster Ardyn, F/M, Female Reader, Implication of eye horror, It's not that bad I swear Ardyn just kind of... licks your eye towards the end, Look we all know you're here for the tentacle porn and there is lots of that so have at it, Lovecraftian AU, Lovecraftian Inspired, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Postgrad Researcher Reader, Science Doctors Verstael and Ignis, Smut, Tentacle Bondage, Tentacle Porn, Tentacles, Triple Penetration, Vaginal Fingering, Well there's minor plot at the end, dubcon, tentacle fellatio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardinalFox/pseuds/MagpieMinx
Summary: Dr. Verstael Besithia has managed to capture a creature not of this world masquerading as a man.  He's brought Dr. Ignis Scientia and you on to help him study the monster.  This particular interview does not go according to plan.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 179
Collections: Clawsome's Smut Pile





	Interview with a Monster (Gone Wrong)

“When was the last time someone kissed you?” the monster asks, his tone somewhere between playful and pitying. You don’t know exactly what kind of look you get on your face in response, but you’re taken aback by the sudden curiosity on his part. You glance towards the two-way mirror that Dr. Verstael Besithia and Dr. Ignis Scientia are observing from, wonder what they think about this abrupt change in topic, particularly to something so personal. Will they pull you from the chamber? It’s not as if the monster is averse to talking to any of you, in point of fact, he seems to be in love with his own voice. He doesn’t care who interviews him, and Dr. Besithia could do all the interviews, as long as you’re there to analyze them.

Then again, it’s not really the monster’s own voice, is it? Or maybe it is? You lose yourself in this question rather than the monster’s. The human body he wears isn’t really his, it can’t be, but it’s difficult to tell if he’s wearing the body or inhabiting it or if it’s become a part of him. He’s not human by any means, though he appears to be at first glance. You might not even believe Dr. Besithia and Dr. Scientia’s claims that he’s not human if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes and watched the video footage afterwards. The way his body shifts and changes at will, pulsing with strange, sickly colors, pulling and swelling and growing… It’s disturbing to watch, makes your skin crawl to imagine, but the monster’s human body doesn’t appear to be any the worse for wear after his… episodes. 

The monster tuts disapprovingly, drawing your attention back from its wanderings through your wondering, and you startle, dropping your pen so that it clatters to the floor when you find him only inches away from your face. Instinctive terror makes you break into a cold sweat though he looks mostly human. You’ve never seen eyes this shade of hazel-gold, luminous like candle flames, shining under the fluorescent lights the way cats’ eyes do when you play a flashlight over them. You’ve never seen hair this shade of red that didn’t come from hair dye either, deep and tinted with rich purple, like some dark wine. “I don’t like being ignored.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize automatically, defensively, out of self-preservation, “That’s kind of a personal question.” He’s kneeling just to the side of your legs as you sit in the overstuffed armchair, his elbow resting on the pad of paper you’ve been taking notes on, chin in his palm. His human body is tall, over six feet, so it shouldn’t be surprising that he’s on level with your face despite being on his knees. His height and the breadth of his shoulders have been one of the reasons you’ve tried to keep distance between him and yourself, the other part of course being that he could devour you in the time it would take you to blink, swallow you whole and suck those mismatched fangs clean afterwards.

You swallow as the images flicker through your mind, the way he turned into a shadow-thing with too many misplaced eyes and a yawning maw full of teeth. There were so many slick, writhing limbs and the guns and knives that the guards were armed with... the monster didn’t even flinch. There was no injury, or if there was, it was insignificant. That he didn’t swallow you, Dr. Besithia, and Dr. Scientia down with the rest was a statement, and the smug smirk he wore when he reverted back to his human form was as threatening as it was confirming. You have a theory that he’s only staying in the facility because it amuses him to talk to you and Dr. Besithia and Dr. Scientia regularly, not because he’s actually contained here. Dr. Besithia believes otherwise, he thinks he’s truly trapped the monster here.

“Of course it’s personal,” the monster murmurs as he tilts his head, “You’re a person, aren’t you?” His smile is full of mischief and his eyes as incomprehensible to you as they’ve been from the start. They’re playful and ancient, full of fondness and an alien distance filled to the brim with knowledge that sometimes you think you can feel the edges of when you hold eye contact with him in silence. It’s strange and somehow wrong, that knowledge, but it’s enticing too, so you still meet his gaze, though never for very long.

“You appear to be correct,” you respond with wary caution, not sure what he’s getting at. He’s tirelessly manipulative and endlessly amused until he grows bored with dropping breadcrumbs to lead the three of you to whatever conclusions he wants you to draw. He has an  _ agenda _ , and it’s frightening because he’s a vast and unfathomable alien intellect.

“So tell me, since you are a person,” he says, his tone at once soothing and patronizing, “When was the last time you were kissed?”

“I fail to see what bearing this line of inquiry has on what we’re trying to do here,” you say with clinical detachment, evading the question. You don’t know if the monster will let you get away with this, but he’s never tried to ask you personal questions before either. He sometimes abides by human customs when it suits him, but not when he stands to gain something he wants. What does he want now? Does he want you to kiss him?

“I’m bored and sex is fun,” he says, his golden eyes scintillating in a way that they shouldn’t, a scimitar smile curving his lips. You stare at him, speechless as your mouth drops open, but you can feel the hairs at the back of your neck prickling and standing up. The resting expression of his human face is earnest, honest, but now there’s a lazy sensuality that gives it a wicked slant that makes your heartbeat stutter and skip involuntarily. You’re suddenly, abruptly faced with your attraction to him, and there’s a flicker of panic in your chest because now is not the time to deal with that particular feeling.

The monster picked— or perhaps made?— a handsome body, and it’s not the first time you’ve noticed it. You, Dr. Bersithia, and Dr. Scientia have all commented on the body’s physical appeal at one time or another and theorized that the monster uses it as a way to manipulate and ingratiate himself with other humans so they don’t notice or more likely overlook any traces of his inhumanity. It was only a theory, but this may be a piece of correlating evidence. The monster is still so close, his chin on his fist as he continues smiling at you with that wicked hunger on his face, and a shiver climbs your spine. You don’t want to be a piece of correlating evidence, don’t want to be distracted from your purpose here by temptation and impulse.

Does the concept of consent mean anything to him? Or are humans too low for him to even consider asking? You falter, and his eyes drop to your mouth as you force out the words, “I’m finding this very inappropriate. I’m not here for you to have sex with.”

“Perhaps not,” he concedes far too easily, still looking at your mouth, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“I won’t,” you correct him, your tone snapping out sharper than you meant it to be, and his eyes dance back up to bore into yours. His pupils are gone now, the sclera turned black as obsidian, and you can’t tell if he’s actually looking at you with those inhuman eyes or if—

“What are you seeing?” you ask suddenly, trusting the audio and video recordings to jar your memory so you can write down your thoughts later, “And how?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” he says, his voice dropping into a rumbling purr that drops straight from your ears to behind your pubic bone. Your mouth goes dry and you gasp for breath at the suddenness of it, your thighs suddenly pressed together instinctively. The tingling vibration that shouldn’t have been causes heat to pool in your core and you’re suddenly far more aroused than you should be.

“Tell me now,” you demand, your voice too breathy to have the authority you’ve tried to load it with. He laughs at you and somehow you know that he knows exactly what he did, that somehow he  _ made _ it happen.

“After,” he answers freely, relaxed as he settles his hands on either arm of the chair you’re in, fluidly rising to his feet. He comes entirely too close to your face as he stands and you lean as far back as the chair will allow. He keeps you trapped there, trying to coax one of his knees between your own as he leans closer, still staring into your eyes as if he can somehow see more than just your physical body. You throw a panicked glance towards the mirror, praying that your fellow researchers will intervene or at least send a squad of security in to distract him long enough—

“Now, now, there’s no need to be quite so frightened,” he croons against your cheek, and then his hair is against your face as he nuzzles his way back to your ear, “My species isn’t known for consuming our mating partners. Even the human ones.”

“Is that something your species does regularly?” you ask in a panicked squeak, and he pauses to throw his head back and laugh. You try to take advantage of his distraction and wriggle out from under him so you can bolt for the door, but his knee divides your thighs and slick tendrils whip around your ribs and slam you back into the chair. It knocks the breath from your lungs and for a second you can’t breathe, wheezing in frantic desperation, while the beautiful monster with the human face looks down at you with pity.

“Even when I remember how fragile humans are, I still forget to be as careful as I should,” he says, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Your breath comes back in stages, first one half, then a second a little deeper, and then finally a full breath that brings so much relief that you slump into the stuffing of the chair and the hold of the tentacles. You spare a glance downward to confirm what you’ve seen on video, trace the slim, black limbs back to their source. The monster’s shirt is slightly lifted, but they’re not coming from his exposed abdomen. From there, your thoughts split, one half staring at the defined ridges of his abdominals, the other half noticing how the tentacles curve and bow outward around his narrow waist, suggesting that they’re coming from somewhere on his back.

His easy laughter is what snaps your eyes back up to his face, and his smile is sly and knowing when he asks, “Did you see something you liked?” Another tendril slides around his waist, leaving a faint trail of moisture behind as it snakes over his skin and lifts his shirt. The two wrapped around your ribs are moving too, winding endlessly upwards over your shirt, squeezing your torso firmly between them. Your heart jumps from your chest to your throat at the squeeze, suddenly convinced that the monster means to crush you in his coils. It’s only because the tentacles have such a strong hold on you that you realize that you’re trembling, and the monster makes a sympathetic noise.

“There, there,” he intones with soft caring, his face still too close to yours, “What’s frightened you now, darling?"

“Don’t kill me,” you whisper before you have a chance to consider what you’re saying, and he exhales in a soft little huff of laughter that’s warm against your face. Unexpectedly, his breath smells like the ocean, salt and sand and mineral tang. He’s been fed the same meals as the rest of you, how is it that his mouth smells like the ocean? The scent of it wakes a kind of longing deep in your chest that maybe you could put words to if you weren’t otherwise distracted.

“I’m not going to,” he promises earnestly, and then pauses, his expression thoughtful, “Well, maybe a little, but only in the French way.”

You’re relieved, but you also feel yourself stiffening as you try to consider all the possibilities. It could be a good opportunity for a… particular kind of research, but you don’t particularly want to blur the lines between studying the monter’s sexual interests and habits and creating a personal sex tape. It wouldn’t be professional, and you’re not sure you could face Dr. Bersithia or Dr. Scientia afterwards because there’s no question that they’ll want to watch. Then again, will the monster even let you refuse? Does it matter to him, whether you want to or not? His human body isn’t unattractive by any means, though it’s been a long time for you… 

“Shall I make this easier for you?” he asks, breaking your train of thought. You blink up at him, and then your mouth drops open as he pulls his shirt off over his head. He does it with his hands, effortlessly keeping you pinned to the chair though you squirm to try to adjust your position. He tosses his shirt onto the floor to the side of your chair, and then you feel your eyes get even wider as more tentacles rise from his back. They arch over his shoulders, curve around his arms, bobbing gently in the air beside his hips. You try to count them, but then he’s leaning on one arm of the chair, skimming the thumb on his free hand along one of the two limbs wrapped around you. He lifts that thumb to your mouth, gleaming fluid clinging to his skin.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he says, all sweetness now as he smears the fluid along your bottom lip, “Let me help.”

“How is this helping,” you mumble between clenched teeth as he pushes his thumb past your lips. Unexpectedly, his face turns serious, and you regret asking instead of just doing what you were told.

“I’ve already seen how this ends, dear,” he says with a mildly exasperated sigh, and it takes you a second to wrap your head around that statement while he goes on, “And it ends with you on your back, stuffed with my cock, not sure if you want me to stop or keep going.” He looks thoughtful again, and then his smile returns, cunning and wicked as he purrs, “You look gorgeous when you’re wrecked.”

His purr hits you as hard as it did the first time, the sound bending reality in ways you can’t comprehend as you feel your core tighten around a vibration that exists where it shouldn’t. You squeeze your eyes shut with the intensity, opening your mouth on an unsteady exhale, and then his thumb is pressing down on your tongue. The slick from his tentacle is viscous, clinging and salty, has the mineral tang that you caught on his breath. It’s not, however, bitter or unpleasant, and a warmth spreads through your head and down your throat. You moan around his thumb as the sensation seeps through your body in a way that’s not unlike alcohol. It oozes down your chest and arms, tension dissolving and leaving your muscles loose as you relax into the overstuffed chair. The monster hums with pleasure as you soften and become pliant under him, and just as the sensation reaches deep into your belly, that hum dips into yet another purr. The combination is already too intense, and you grab onto his wrist without thinking as your back arches, legs spreading instinctively.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your cheekbone, pulling his thumb from your open mouth and then claiming it with his own. He licks into your mouth, careful and languid, and through the fog in your brain you come to the realization that he wants to savor this. The thought is almost immediately put away for later as he takes your free hand and pulls it up to the back of his head, burying your fingers in the silk of his hair. You latch on, half cupping the back of his head and half curling your fingers into the loose waves of his hair as his hand drops to wrap around the back of your neck. The gentle cradle of those long fingers at the base of your skull brings a strange kind of security, and a second warm, blanketing haze settles over your thoughts.

“Hmmmmmm,” he hums against your lips, “Can’t remember the last time you felt safe like that either, can you?” You feel every word he speaks against your mouth, but it takes you a long time to decipher them.

“Safe?” you repeat, because it’s the most important word out of that particular string, “Not… like this.” The breathless phrase doesn’t sound like your voice at all, though you felt yourself form the words, felt yourself speak them. A very distant part of you notices the combined effects of whatever he’s done to you and is disgusted at how stupid he’s rendered you within the space of a few minutes. The disgust at yourself almost breaks through his spell, but then the monster is pulling your body up against his with the tentacles wrapped around you. More coil around your upper arms, your hips, and your thighs and then you’re being held against him and his hands have shifted to your back and one of your thighs. He doesn’t need them to hold you, that’s abundantly clear, but his hands don’t feel as foreign as the tentacles wrapped around you. You find your hands sliding up to drape over his shoulders, and suddenly you appreciate their breadth and strength.

It’s as he’s gently lowering you to the floor that you come back to yourself a little more fully, blinking up at him and feeling almost like you’re waking up from a nap. His face as he looks down at you is unexpectedly soft, and then he grins at you conspiratorially as a tentacle rubs teasingly at the corner of your mouth. “Want me to do it again?”

For a moment, you don’t want to tell him the real answer, but you have a lightning flash of clarity when you remember exactly what he said when he asked his rhetorical question. He asked because he already knew, already knows, and putting that together with what he said earlier about knowing how this ends… You catch your breath and stare up at him in wonder, “You don’t experience time like humans do, do you?”

“No,” he says with a lilting fondness, as the tentacle slips past the corner of your lips and into your mouth, swelling up to the thickness of his thumb. The slick has the same effect on you as the taste he gave you before except that now it’s multiplied, and heat races through you. You find yourself sucking on the tentacle without remembering making the conscious decision to do it, but it doesn’t matter when the monster’s hands and other limbs are making quick work of stripping you. You’re grateful for it, feeling hot and constricted in your clothes, and you squirm, panting around the tentacle pressing heavily on your tongue as it swells even larger than before.

“If it helps, there are no realities where you don’t give me your consent, even if I don’t speed things along,” the monster tells you, his tone at once reassuring and teasing, “You’re as attracted to this body as it is to you, and you like the extras it comes with, namely,  _ me _ . You’re just very good at tricking yourself into thinking that you’re not.” He pauses to roll his eyes up to the heavens expressively, “Humans and their defenses.”

You would retort, but you’re distracted by both the tentacle in your mouth and the ones that are sliding over your newly uncovered skin as the monster tosses aside your blouse, shoes, pants, and bra. He leaves your panties for the moment, instead sliding his hands up your ribs and over your breasts, pressing his extra limbs into you as they slip more easily over your skin, growing wetter with each passing minute. His hands travel up to your shoulders, and then he’s lifting your arms over your head and pinning your wrists to the floor over your head. He leans down to kiss you, the tentacle in your mouth sliding out just in time for him to catch your lips under his. He lowers his body to rest on yours, and the warmth of his skin against yours makes you melt and you moan your satisfaction.

“Do you remember my name?” he asks when he pulls away, and you shiver as his tentacles writhe between your bodies, purposefully flexing into every sensitive place they find on you. The stimulation keeps breaking your train of thought as you gasp for breath, feel first one tentacle and then another slipping over your nipples, and then another snaking under your back to press against the muscles bracketing your spine.

“Ar— Ardyn,” you finally say, your voice breaking on a moan in the middle of his name, and he chuckles as he leans down to nip your throat and drag his wet tongue over the gentle bite.

“I knew you’d remember,” he says with that warm fondness back in his voice, but then he employs that unearthly purr again as he lifts himself off you and tells you, “You’ll be screaming it later.” You buck and thrash under him this time, throwing your head back in a cry as his purr dives straight between your legs and scrambles your thoughts. You bite your lip and flail, fighting his hold on your wrists and wrapping your thighs around his narrow waist to try and pull his hips down against you. He doesn’t so much as budge, and when you lift your hips instead in desperation, his tentacles yank— shove?— you back down to the floor. It doesn’t knock the breath out of you this time, and you struggle against the unyielding bonds of the monster’s appendages.

“Ardyn!” you bark at him as he smiles at you like he thinks you’re adorable, more tentacles winding around your thighs and inexorably pulling them further apart.

“Yes, my darling?” he asks, cocking his head as he looks down at you, still with that indulgent smile.

“Ardyn,” you groan in frustration as you squirm against the tentacles pinning you effortlessly to the ground beneath him, “I want—” You interrupt yourself with a gasp as yet another tentacle rubs up against your panties, pressing against the length of your cunt. The monster laughs lightly.

“Is that what you wanted, precious?” he asks with just a trace of mockery as you moan, squirming and trying to press yourself harder against the tentacle and failing. It settles into a long, slow drag against the fabric separating you from it, rasping the cotton over your folds and sensitive clit. “Is this how I should do this the first time here? A long, slow build up to the edge until you soak through your panties and climax at the lightest touch? That does sound lovely.”

You can’t scrape together enough words to answer him, not to beg, not to defy, not to plead. The thought of being pinned here until he’s done with you has wiped your thoughts of anything other than the mind-blowing orgasm he’s promising you. The tentacle between your thighs undulates against you, and you whimper at the unfamiliar sensation. You try desperately to move even an inch, but the monster’s response is simply to tighten every limb wrapped around you, including his hands on your wrists. For a moment you regret it because now he has you totally immobilized, but the tentacle between your legs continues moving and the realization that you can’t do anything other than take it… There’s a rush of heat and you’re moaning because you’re totally at the monster’s mercy, if he has any.

“I’m beginning to see why you’re currently unattached,” Ardyn muses, seemingly unaffected, “You require a firmer hand than most men are willing to employ. Or ten of them.”

“Tentacles aren’t hands,” you shoot back at him, eyes darting down the length of his body because suddenly you need to check to see if he’s actually enjoying this. You don’t know what you’ll do if he’s not, but you stare at the size of the bulge in his pants and abruptly lose track of everything else, your mind going totally blank.

“Another thing that most men can’t provide,” the monster says as he follows your line of sight, and then laughs when he sees you still staring. “All things in their time, darling.” He follows the statement up by applying more pressure against your cotton covered core with his tentacle and watching you writhe as much as the bonds will allow, wanton and open-mouthed as you keen. 

“You do make the prettiest sounds,” he confesses, leaning down towards you as if to impart a secret, “And when you beg… well, it certainly does things to  _ me _ . I wonder what your colleagues think?”

The thought stops you cold and you freeze under the monster as he cocks his head and then his eyes flicker towards the two way mirror. You make the mistake of looking over, and then you can’t look away, the horror and shame of being watched spreading hotly through your chest. It also, undeniably, makes you wetter when you think of Dr. Bersithia and Dr. Scientia watching, and possibly unable to help touching themselves. It might be now, or it might be later, but they’ll think of you and they’ll think of Ardyn and they’ll wish it was them, won’t they? The alternative— 

“That’s quite enough thinking from you,” Ardyn says nonchalantly, and then a tentacle is feeding itself into your open mouth as the one against your cunt settles into a steady rhythm. The cotton of your panties is sticking to both you and the tentacle, the fabric drenched through and clinging, sliding as the appendage thrusts against you, tantalizing. The tentacle in your mouth swells even bigger than before, weighing heavily on your tongue, sliding further back towards your throat. You can feel yourself trembling, and then there’s a slithering sensation as two more tentacles begin winding themselves around your arms. They travel upwards to your wrists until the monster can release your wrists without you moving so much as an iota without his permission.

“You’re close,” he purrs, and it’s happening again, that sinful combination of vibration where there shouldn’t be, the heat spreading languidly from your tongue down your throat and through your chest and belly, and being pinned and forced to accept pleasure. Your muscles contract as if to arch your back, but you’re held firmly in place against the ground, and Ardyn takes the opportunity to run his fingertips down your sides and then up your thighs. The touch makes you moan around the tentacle in your mouth, your head tipping back as it presses a little further back on your tongue. Fingertips trace the edges of your panties, skimming so close to where you want him to touch, and you buck up against the feeling instinctively though your hips don’t do more than twitch.

You’re panting mindlessly around the tentacle in your mouth, staring blindly up at the ceiling, focused on the tentacle moving against your core, pushing you closer to the edge. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink of an orgasm when the tentacle lifts away from you and Ardyn lightly grips the backs of your thighs to ground you, deliberately tugging you back from the precipice. You sob, whining around the appendage in your mouth, feel saliva gathering at the corners and beginning to overflow. The monster just shushes you softly, “Shh, precious, not yet, not yet.” 

His thumbs are stroking your sensitive inner thighs so sweetly, and you could almost relax into his touch if you weren’t so desperate for him to touch your pussy and send you careening into the most intense orgasm you think you’ll ever have. He just continues that light stroking until your breathing has slowed slightly, and then the tentacle returns, rubbing firmly against your panties. It’s slimmer this time, pressing into your folds, pushing the fabric between them and right up against your entrance. The movement of it against you is so alien, but it’s difficult to think about when the tentacle in your mouth is beginning to mimic the motion. The dual stimulation is driving you right back to the edge that the monster was trying to back you down from, but when you get too close, Ardyn lifts the tentacle away again. 

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs when you actually cry out in dismay, his thumbs tracing the seam where your thighs meet your body, pressing in on either side just under the edge of your ruined panties, “You’re alright, darling, you can hold on just a little longer, can’t you? For me?” His tone is soothing, but it’s also sensual and the press of his thumbs is pulling your cunt open under the sticky cotton of your panties and you can feel your core twitching. Your panting is uneven, unsteady, and you squirm, wanting something, anything to rub against your clit. You know that your hands are bound, but you still try to move them, struggling in vain to try to get a hand between your legs so you can touch yourself the way you want Ardyn to touch you. The more you try to pull your hands free, the tighter the tendrils around your arms wind, and Ardyn chuckles.

“Did you really think I was going to let you off that easy? Or should I say let you  _ get _ off?” Ardyn punctuates his question with a deliberate brush of the tentacle against your panties, but then he lifts his hand and hooks a finger under the elastic of your underwear. The tentacle slides under the fabric to rub against your flesh and you yelp around the tentacle in your mouth, your entire body jerking at the wet slide of it against you without the buffer of cotton. It feels so much better, but it also makes you writhe, struggling against your bonds, unable to control your body’s desperate attempts to move. You’ve never felt more helpless, reduced to a single-minded pursuit of physical pleasure, a desire so permeating that it’s become a need.

Ardyn is stroking your thighs with the palms of his hands, running them over your skin and the unyielding tentacles wrapped around your legs. His touch is warm and slightly rough with callouses, unlike the smooth, slick texture of his tentacles, now beginning to drip. The taste of the fluid is flooding your mouth, seeping into your skin, being rubbed onto and into your cunt as you shudder and twitch under the wet slide of that tentacle. It’s driven you back to that edge, you’re so close and-

The tentacle lifts from your core, pulling your panties away until they tear, the cotton ripping apart under the pressure. The elastic waistband snaps back against your belly, but all you know is that you’ve been denied again and you sob around the tentacle in your mouth, on the verge of weeping. Ardyn is making soothing sounds, trying to shush you, promising that he’ll give you what you need. His palms are on your inner thighs, thumbs delicately pulling apart your wet folds. He holds you open for several long moments, watching your cunt twitch and your legs shake. He purrs again, that vibration humming inside you again, and your back arches in spite of the tentacles wrapped so tightly around you. He must be allowing it, but you can’t focus long enough to judge if his inhuman hold on you has softened.

You’re hyperventilating around the tentacle in your mouth, choking as it pushes to the back of your tongue before it eases back and then practically dives down your throat. You gag and choke before managing to swallowi around it, and then Ardyn settles his thumb firmly on your clit and rubs tight circles over it with increasing pressure. For a moment, you think that you’re wound too tight to orgasm, and then your whole body seizes. Your back arches and you throw your head back to the floor, your cunt pulsing and hot as pleasure washes over you like a wave, your vision going white as you scream. 

The tight circling over your clit slows, but doesn’t stop, and your body bucks, your thighs trying to close and pull away from the stimulation. You’re too sensitive, but the tentacles hold on you has gone iron hard again and no matter how you thrash and writhe, you can’t move. Ardyn’s thumb lightens and then finally lifts from your clit and then you’re just trying to breathe around the tentacle in your throat, your chest heaving. It extracts itself from your mouth in one long, smooth slide, and it’s only then that you feel the tears leaking from your eyes and the saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth. You can barely imagine the mess you must look like, you’re too exhausted to try to picture it in detail, but you find yourself hoping that Ardyn is satisfied. 

“Don’t think we’re done here,” he says lightly, and it takes you too long to focus your bleary vision on his face and understand what it is he’s actually said. By then it’s too late, two of those long fingers slipping inside you to draw long ovals up your walls. You feel your eyelids flutter as a ragged moan slips out of your mouth, and then Ardyn chuckles as he pulls his fingers out of your cunt, glistening under the lights until he closes his mouth around them and sucks them clean with an obscene noise that embarrasses you. 

He’s already leaning down, taking his time to leisurely spread your folds with his fingertips, adjusting just so before pressing the flat of his tongue to you and dragging it up to your clit. The groan that escapes your throat is half strangled, and then you keen as he repeats the gesture, licking your held open pussy with purpose. He pauses to suckle gently on your clit, and then resumes licking you. You whimper, squirming, already unsure whether you want him to keep going or stop, the pleasure licking at your already raw and overworked nerves. The next time he sucks on your clit, you keen helplessly, pulling again at your arms, wanting to bury your hands in his hair as much as you want to yank him away from your too-sensitive pussy. He’s back to licking you again, this time focusing on your clit, his tongue moving in a figure eight.

You inhale sharply when you feel the gentle press of something against you, but as soon as you’ve registered it, the swelling tentacle has pushed into your cunt. It keeps going, undulating occasionally and rubbing up against your walls, and Ardyn times it with sucking kisses on your clit that make you jerk and try futilely to close your thighs around his head. The tentacle bottoms out inside you, meeting your cervix, and then it presses steadily against it. Your half-lidded eyes fly open at the sensation as you gasp at the unfamiliar pleasure it brings, and then Ardyn is sucking your clit into his mouth again and lashing his tongue back and forth over it. You shriek, and then cry out again as the tentacle inside you writhes in a way that pushes precisely against your cervix and that spot along your walls.

You orgasm violently, pleasure ripping through you like fire this time instead of the warm ocean wave of the first. You’re straining against the tentacles and screaming, but Ardyn doesn’t stop. if anything, he seems to intensify all the sensations, adding more pressure, more suction, more movement, and you’re thrust from one orgasm into another. It becomes so intense that you lose track of time and only come back to your body when Ardyn has gone back to long, languid licks. A glance at his face between your thighs reveals that he’s covered in slick from his eyes to his throat, but you’re not sure how or when that happened. Either way, all you seem to be able to manage is trying to catch your breath.

“You taste delicious, by the way,” Ardyn says conversationally after another lick that makes you shudder. You’re becoming slowly aware that there’s a wet mess between your thighs and you’ve never felt filthier, but it’s also strangely erotic to be so soaked in your own fluids and that of the tentacles. 

You try to respond, but somewhere between coming up with words and trying to actually speak them, your brain has completely failed. You make a wordless, nonsensical sound and immediately give up on trying to communicate anything. You drop your head back onto the floor and stare at the ceiling, still trying to calm your breathing. Ardyn laughs, and then he’s sliding his fingers back into you. You whine through your teeth, exhausted and already feeling sore, but he withdraws after sweeping them in a curve to follow your walls. His intentions become clear when he rubs them against your puckered asshole, applying slick and gentle pressure. Any other time and you might have clenched up purely out of surprise, but not even surprise can make you tighten your muscles after the orgasm you just had. First one finger eases its way into your ass, and then a second before he begins to gently thrust them inside you. His head dips and he sucks lightly on your clit. He pulls away and hums, finally murmuring just loud enough for you to hear, “Shall I make you cum like this too?”

He twists his fingers in your ass, and it’s now that you find yourself truly surrendering to him, to whatever he wants to do with you. You moan, not quite recognizing your own voice because the sound is low and raw, hoarse from screaming and crying from the intensity of what he’s already put you through. He’s still not done, won’t be done until… It doesn’t matter when he’ll be done. You reach for resistance and find only apathy and a desire to let him take you as far as he can take you. If he wants to push your body to its limits, you won’t stop him, don’t even want to try stopping him.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he praises, purring, and again that buzzing vibration sinks into places it should never be able to reach. Your moan isn’t much more than a softly vocalized exhale as your back arches, but suddenly you find yourself with more freedom of movement, and you lift your arms free, the tentacles sliding off and snaking onto your body with the rest. Your shoulders ache, but you reach down and run your fingers through Ardyn’s hair, sighing with satisfaction as you bury them in the silky strands. He alternates again between suckling on your clit and licking your sopping cunt, working his fingers in and out of your ass. You feel your thighs falling open, realize distantly that the tentacles wrapped around your legs have loosened too, but they haven’t slipped away. You know this means something, but you can’t be sure what as Ardyn purrs as he suckles on your clit, expertly bending your reality as he blends the sensations in your body. 

This orgasm is a gentler one, but you’re overstimulated and too sensitive for it not to have claws. The pleasure rakes through you, hot and furious, leaves you shaking and mindless as the tentacles around your thighs tighten in sync with your fingers in Ardyn’s hair. You feel your back arching, your head falling back as you moan, your entire pelvis pulsing with a pleasure so sharp that it’s bordering on pain. Ardyn’s stimulation remains steady, drawing out your orgasm as long as he can make it last. If you were anything approaching cognizant, you would be astonished that he could pull this much pleasure for this long from your already exhausted body. As things stands, it’s all you can do just to  _ feel _ what he’s doing as your keening dies into heavy panting and then rises again in desperate cries for relief. You want him to stop, to let you rest, need him to keep touching you, keep pushing you over that precipice into razor-edged bliss. 

He pulls away suddenly, lifting his head and withdrawing his fingers from your ass, and the sudden removal of his touch is torture. You cry out in dismay, but your body is still twitching uncontrollably, your cunt spasming and pulsing. You’ve been consumed over and over by heat, drowning in it as much as the pressure of the tentacles binding you, as much as the touch of his hand. You find yourself staring at the ceiling as you gasp for breath, wondering how long it’s been, how much time has passed since Ardyn began his monstrous, expert seduction. It’s the only question that can distract you from the loss of the monster’s hands.

Movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention, but then Arydn is moving over you, now naked. How did you miss him taking the rest of his clothes off? Did you pass out for a few minutes? Or are you really so lost that you didn’t notice? He smiles down at you from under the curtain of his wine-dark hair, his strange black and gold eyes studying you. There’s something smug and satisfied about his expression, but also infinitely tender and adoring. He drops his head to press his lips against yours, his tongue darting eagerly past your lips and teeth to tangle with your own, and you meet him the best that you’re able. He dominates the kiss easily, your exhaustion evident even in this, even as you wearily wrap your arms around his back. You find your way between the many tentacles sprouting from his back with your fingertips until you can hold him, closing your eyes when your arms are wrapped around him to your satisfaction. 

“So lovely,” he sighs against your mouth, his hips coming to rest between your thighs, his tentacles pulling them apart, spreading you open for him. His cock, hot and hard and soft-skinned is against the mess of your pussy, soaking in the slick smeared over you. He rocks his hips, cock sliding against your core, pressing delectably against your opening like a threat before skirting past. As he continues, it lodges against you, and then he’s pushing into you, filling you, and your eyes roll back at the pleasure of being stretched open. He seats himself deep inside you and then stays there for a long moment. When you look up at his face, his expression is mock thoughtful, and suddenly there’s sliver of fear in the haze of your brain.

It’s a justified fear, because there’s a tentacle rubbing against the corner of your open mouth. It presses against your tongue as it writhes in your mouth, almost totally distracting you from the other tentacle now pushing against your ass, pushing in past the length of Ardyn’s fingers with the aid of the slick dripping off it. It sinks deeper and deeper into you, both it and the tentacle in your mouth swelling up as they undulate, and you clutch at Ardyn as you try to focus on breathing. He purrs and you buck and thrash, trying to ride the triple penetration as a muffled shriek of overwhelming pleasure escapes around the tentacle thrusting down your throat. It’s now that Ardyn rocks his hips against you, fucking into your wet, splayed cunt while his tentacles begin their own rhythms at their own speeds in your mouth and ass. 

It’s far too much, too overwhelming, and the relentless stimulation brings you to an aching peak ripped from your very bones. You orgasm screaming around the tentacle in your throat, clinging desperately to Ardyn for an anchor as your climax sweeps you into a senseless numbness. You must black out for a minute or two, but it can’t be longer than that when you come back to yourself, your open mouth now empty. Ardyn is still steadily fucking your cunt, the tentacle in your ass still thrusting, both utterly merciless as your body responds helplessly, muscles tightening as yet another orgasm approaches. Ardyn leans down, smirking into your face as he cants his hips just so, the tentacles wrapped around your waist lifting your back into an arch. Yet another tentacle slides between your bodies, it’s slim tip finding your clit with unerring precision and rubbing steadily against it, applying increasing pressure. You try to writhe, your burning muscles trying desperately to dislodge it, but you can feel the heavy promise of this next orgasm, oblivion hovering at the edges of your awareness. 

“Please,” you gasp, digging your fingers into Ardyn’s back as you beg, “Please, I need— I want—” You can’t put words to it, but Ardyn already knows and his smirk gains an edge of cruelty you’ve only seen on his face once before, when he ate the security squad in front of you.

“Then cum for me,” he says, lilting, playful, but with a vicious edge. The command has the reality bending quality of his purrs and you tip over that edge. You’re falling into the infinite void of your climax, screaming until everything fades away.

~

You wake up slowly, awareness returning sluggishly. You’re reluctant to move, not when you’re surrounded by warmth, something soothingly stroking your back. It takes a moment, but you finally identify that the ‘something’ is a hand, the touch warm, gentle, and firm. The general warmth you feel resolves into the feeling of being cradled against another body, your cheek resting against a man’s chest. You blink, in no hurry to move out of this comforting embrace, but unable to remember who it is. Your body aches all over, like you did a hard exercise routine before meeting up with whoever he is-

You lift your head and blink up at the monster who chuckles softly when he sees your mouth drop open in shock as flashes of memory flicker through your mind like sparks. Those strange gold eyes glimmer strangely and then the hand stroking your back drifts up and rests briefly against the back of your neck, the palm against your nape. That sense of safety and security he induced in you before floods your nervous system and you find yourself going boneless along the length of his body. You’re laying on top of him, still on the floor near the chairs you two usually occupy during your regular interviews, clothes scattered nearby. He seems unbothered by the location as he resumes running his palm along your back, fingertips tracing your spine.

“How long was I out?” you ask, wincing when you hear your own voice. It’s raspy and hoarse from screaming and likely to get worse before it get better from the sound of it.

“A while,” is the monster’s irritatingly non-specific answer, “You appeared to need the rest.”

“I need water,” you mumble, only to startle when the creature offers you a glass filled with cool water. Where did it come from? You were sure there were no glasses nearby a minute ago, but maybe you missed it before. You sip from it, and then drink deeply when the chilled liquid runs down your throat, numbing some of the pain.

“I see my colleagues haven’t disturbed us, so it can’t have been that long,” you say, grimacing as you think about Dr. Besithia and Dr. Scientia watching the monster turn you into his personal sex toy. Not that it was a bad experience, but—

“Oh, no, they’ve been quite busy,” the monster says with a grin that makes you give him an inquiring look, “It’s been probably eight hours, but they’ve discovered that the door no longer leads to this room.”

“Eight hours?” you repeat, horrified that you’ve been unconscious and naked for that long, but then you pause. “If the door doesn’t lead into here, then where does it go?”

“A beach on some equatorial island in the Pacfic,” the monster says off-handedly, waving a hand with languid nonchalance, “It only works from one side, if you open the door from this side, it’ll lead into the rest of the facility. I did it to keep them busy.” He tosses his head to throw wine-colored hair out of his face while you gape at him. 

Irrationally, what comes out of your mouth is, “I want to go to a tropical island for a day.” It’s true, but you’re still trying to wrap your mind around the door opening, from one side at least, to a totally different location. You can imagine Dr. Besithia and Dr. Scientia tearing their hair out trying to figure out how the creature managed to make that happen. You can also imagine them and anyone who crosses over taking advantage of the impromptu vacation opportunity, however short. 

A feather-light touch on the side of your face startles you into looking up at the monster’s face, which wears an expression of tender fondness that you might even dare to call loving. He smiles, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, “No, darling, no parlor tricks for you.”

“That’s a  _ parlor trick _ ?” you demand, incredulous, “We don’t have anything that can translate us instantly across physical space beyond the  _ theory _ of a tesseract!”

He laughs, pulling you up his body as he rises effortlessly into a sitting position, “It’s still a parlor trick. No, I have a gift that is eminently more suitable for you. Would you like to see a little more like I do?”

Your heart skips a beat and then races as you think of what he said before, his implication that there are multiple realities. If he can see them all at once, then they must happen simultaneously, or maybe he can see different realities at different points in their progression of time? The possibility alone of seeing in that way leaves you breathless, and you find yourself nodding. He smile, warm and indulgent, gains an edge of sorrow and regret as he pulls you closer and kisses your left eyebrow.

“It will hurt,” he murmurs against your skin, “Like no pain you’ve ever known, or will know again, and you will be a little less human than you were before. Do you still want this?”

You hesitate, but there’s really only one answer, and you say it in a rushed exhale. “Yes.” 

The monster presses a kiss to your left eyelid, and then opens his mouth against your closed eye. His lips seal against your eyebrow and over your cheekbone, the tip of his tongue digging at the edge of your eye socket under your lower lid. This is frightening enough already and you tense, trying to steel yourself for whatever is coming, digging your nails into his back.

It’s not physical, it can’t be because you feel your awareness split and the tongue probing at your eye socket remains there, warm and slick. It’s something metaphysical, maybe spiritual, but still somehow neurological because suddenly all you can feel is excruciating agony in your eye, a pain that burns and strikes like lightning all at once, nerves being severed and split and reconnected. You clutch at him and grind your teeth together to stifle the scream building in your throat and the moment stretches on and on indefinitely, an eternity of torture— 

The pain stops so abruptly that the echo of it reverberates through you and leaves you shaking and cringing. The monster merely licks over your eyelid and then removes his mouth as he wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your head. He’s purring soothingly, his fingers sliding gently over the line of the vertebra in your neck. That warm sense of safety is oozing through you again, leeching the tension from your muscles, draining it from your bones and leaving you panting and pliant against his body as he praises you in honeyed tones.

“It’s over, you did so well, you didn’t even scream this time,” he croons, “My brave little kitten, you’re alright.” You reach up to touch your left eye with gentle fingers, confused when there’s no lingering tenderness as you check for residual damage. The skin is slightly sticky with saliva, but there’s no pain now as you probe at it. You pull your hand away and open your eyes, blinking rapidly and trying to detect anything different about what you can see.

It’s almost ghostly at first, like the flickering shadow of something that’s not really there, the objects across the room shifting and shuddering as if they can’t decide whether to be there or not. When you look up at the monster’s face, the effect becomes much clearer. Ardyn’s human and inhuman faces are layered over one another, wearing different expressions, five or six of them flashing to the forefront before being replaced. You feel a headache starting and have to look away, closing your eyes. “I saw…” you start to say, but then can’t finish because you can’t quite explain what you saw.

“You’ll need some time to adjust,” the monster says with gentle sweetness, “Having only one eye with this ability will help. You can switch dominance, and that will help ground you in the reality you live in.”

“Oh,” you say, and then you deliberately open your eyes and look up at him again, “You occupy all the realities you see?” The man and the monster both grin at you, each of them three times over. Does that mean he only has one response to you making that statement?

“My species has extra-dimensional aspects that you don’t, yes,” he says, purring. There’s no reality-bending displacement of that vibration this time, only that warm, thrumming sound running through your ears. “You’re so incredibly clever for a human. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had mixed blood.”

“Mixed blood?” you repeat, but then you realize that he means mixed with creatures like him, not anything ethnic or racial. You wonder if there are people like that, possibly with latent abilities. Could you find them? Would they allow you to study them?

“Dr. Scientia is becoming concerned enough about you that he is consider breaking the two-way mirror,” the monster says, glancing briefly at the mirrored surface in question. When your eyes follow his, you see the possibilities layered over each other again, the glass splintering and breaking, the glass staying intact, Dr, Scientia sending in the facility security forces, Dr. Scientia sending them in and following hot on their heels, Dr. Scientia coming in by himself. You stare in wonder as you process everything, and then flinch when your head starts to hurt again.

“Don’t strain yourself too much,” the monster advises as he shifts you out of his lap and onto the floor beside him, “With some time, you’ll be able to parse what you see better and more clearly. You’re talented, but your brain will need time to make some new connections to process it all more easily.”

“What about the door?” you ask, still not sure if you want to move, to face what’s outside of this cell. Once you step out, everything will be incredibly complicated and you’ll be on your own. You pause to consider that for a moment, the fact that you enjoy the somewhat simpler relationship you have with the monster. You’ve suspected that he’s still the one in control, and this incident has further solidified that impression. Maybe Dr. Besithia caught him off guard when he was brought here, but that can’t be true any longer. If he can change where doors open so easily that he calls it a parlor trick, then there’s nothing that any of you could do to stop him if he truly wanted to leave. 

“Once you open it from this side, it’ll simply be the door,” he says, still sitting beside you as if he knows that you’re still not ready to leave, but then he flashes you a wicked smile, “I  _ do _ want you to come back, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> I kept asking myself why, if Ardyn has tentacles, has he not been turned into some kind of Lovecraftian Eldritch monster with tentacles? And then I read Cassandra Khaw's Persons Non Grata novellas (Hammers on Bone and A Song for Quiet) and this entire concept was born. Ardyn is a monster, but what he does is hunt down other monsters that prey on humans. He is also a completely ridiculous being. So is Verstael honestly. Ignis is trying very hard to keep his shit together. You are also trying very hard to keep your shit together. Ardyn, of course, always has his own plans.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I really appreciate kudos, but I really, really love comments, especially when you tell me what your favorite part and/or lines! As a writer, getting that kind of positive feedback really motivates me!


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